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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548174">Strange Travels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashbag/pseuds/FandomTrashbag'>FandomTrashbag</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Man Who Fell to Earth (1976)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Melancholy, Road Trips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:41:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548174</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashbag/pseuds/FandomTrashbag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, and she doesn't quite remember how, a young woman finds herself on a surprisingly comforting road trip with a resident alien.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Strange Travels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So.<br/>This is based on a dream I had. I might delete this at some point; I dunno.</p><p>Some of it is filler, because I don't remember my dreams too clearly. It triggered some real strong emotions, though, so I thought I'd try to write it down. That's why this is so short; I just really needed to convey the sensations. My experience during the dream would bounce between being Newton and being (a very indistict version of) "myself." I'd also spectate once in a while. I promise it was an incredibly comforting experience. It's not meant to be any kind of "love" story. I really just wanted to write this out as the companion to the illustration.</p><p>Illustration (c) Graphite Pusher<br/>What in the World (c) David Bowie</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="ujudUb">
  <p>
    <strong>  </strong>
  </p>
</div><div class="ujudUb">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="ujudUb">
  <p>
    <strong>I'm just a little bit afraid of you</strong>
    <br/>
    <strong>'Cause love won't make you cry</strong>
    <br/>
    <strong>But, wait until the crowd goes</strong>
    <br/>
    <strong>Oh, wait until the crowd goes</strong>
    <br/>
    <strong>I'm just a little bit afraid of you</strong>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p>Today, she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten here. If you had told her two weeks ago she’d be hitching a ride through the desert with a rich, eccentric stranger in his RV, she would have laughed. She’d still laugh if you stopped to explain her current situation.</p><p>“Would you like to go on a trip?” he asked, approaching her table at the street cafe in New Mexico.</p><p>“Excuse me?” she’d said, thoroughly confused.</p><p>“I’m going on a trip and I think I’d like some company.”</p><p>She’d used her hand as a visor from the sun to see a pale gaunt fellow sharply dressed, his eyes squared away by dated aviators.</p><p>She didn’t really remember agreeing to anything, but she must have. Because here she was, having boarded a rather lavishly-featured RV with a single small suitcase. The driver, Arthur, squared her things away. A driver. For a road trip.</p><p>“I don’t drive,” he’d said by way of conversation at some point. Thomas, that was his name.</p><p>They didn’t talk often. When they did, they discussed films; he quite liked to watch television, even if it was just on while he stared out the window. There was a lot of that: staring out the windows. They watched the scenery go by, not really having a destination. Every once in a while, he’d make Arthur stop so he could go out and take a few photos of some place or other.</p><p>It became a thing, in close quarters, for them to bump and touch; it was unavoidable, really. Eventually they got comfortable around each other. He’d use her lap as a pillow. She’d fall asleep against his shoulder. He flinched the first few times she poked or jabbed at him in jest. They stopped to take a quick walk through a wooded area somewhere (she couldn’t be bothered to pay attention where; it didn’t really matter after all) and he looped her arm through his casually.</p><p>They went back and forth across states, going nowhere in particular. They would talk and laugh. He was introspective, she was respectful of that. There was plenty of companionable silence.</p><p>One late afternoon, they lay across the only mattress at the back of the RV separately watching the flat landscape pass by (through Kansas? Was that the last road sign she’d managed to see?). The sunlight was hot and it made them lethargic (he’d nursed half a gallon of water by noon; he certainly drank a lot of water). Feeling some sort of melancholy way, she crawled on her stomach across the bed toward him.</p><p>He watched silently as she draped herself across his thin hips, her head resting along the side of his rib cage. He shifted with uncertainty and she turned her attention from the plains whizzing by to look at him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. It was genuine, but she didn’t really move. “If I touch you too much.”</p><p>There was a distinct sensation for him that there was something missing with her. It was something that touching, this facade of companionship, seemed to help heal. Deep within himself, he realized he didn’t quite mind. Her touch was not mean or invasive, it was not unwelcome. It was soft and inviting. It asked for nothing in return. He felt himself smile; a real one, not some catty sneer. He reached down to squeeze the arm around his waist in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.</p><p>“No… no, it’s alright,” he said quietly. Because it was. For the first time in quite some time, <em> he </em>was alright.</p><p>He shifted again, this time letting her wrap tighter about his middle, tangling their legs together and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They looked out the same window, now, giving in to the heat-induced fatigue as they continued to traverse the middle of nowhere. He took a deep breath and looked down at her head tucked into his bare chest, knowing she was drifting off. “I think I quite like it. When you hold me, that is.”</p><p>For now, they served an unexpected purpose for each other.</p>
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